Fun fact about me: My attention span can be measured by microscope. You know how you can look forever for your sunglasses and find out after ten minutes of rummaging through your house that they were pulled up on your head the whole time? I've got that beat.
A few weeks ago in a land not so far away...
It was a fine Spring day, warm in the sun but cool in the shade, a deep blue sky overhead carrying a fleet of clouds so white they almost glowed. The kids had soccer games. (Well, "game" might be a stretch for what Abby and her age group are doing. It's more of a boot camp for toddlers. Imagine disturbing an ant hill and then trying to teach each ant how to dribble a soccer ball with the inside edge of their feet, or dodge plastic cones by dribbling around them in a maze, or hop through rings laid out in a specific pattern. That is a toddler "game" of soccer). Before the games, though, the kids were supposed to get their pictures made. It was a frenzy of attempted order that resulted in chaos. Children were scattered across the fields, revolving in ever-widening circles around their parents and trying to break free of their folks' gravitational pull. The parents themselves walked around confused, unsure of which line to stand in. Random kids shouted or cried or laughed.
As we entered the park I could see several sub-lines that had formed in front of a row of soccer goals. The photographers had set up here. Kids and parents alike were being ushered (herded) through the lines with calm yet firm haste towards the photo lines. Those lines were the end goal, but before that we learned we had to stand in the first line, a big fat snake of a thing that crossed the main walkway from the concession stand and curved into the fields where the cameras awaited.
My wife, who is the force of order and organization in our family, stood silently losing her mind in the chaos from the minute we arrived. Being the force of absent-minded lollygagging, I just stood there watching it all, waiting for our turn. The depths of my (probably diagnosable) ADD are almost boundless, and today those depths sunk even deeper into the abyss.
Observe the aging gray-headed southeastern moron as he interacts in the wild:
As we stood in line Abby played with another kid on her "team." At one point she took a spill and landed on her butt. She started crying so I picked her up and held her. Several minutes went by, in which Logan tested boundaries by wandering farther and farther from us. With all the commotion going on I couldn't focus on any one thing for more than a few seconds. My brain was playing ping pong with my vision. The problem was, my eyes were faster than my brain.
It all happened in less than two seconds.
For one fleeting moment of moronitude (new word; you're welcome), a synapse snapped in my mind. I couldn't see my daughter anywhere! Panic sputtered like a candle flame in my stomach and I said aloud for everyone to hear, "Where's Abby?" I even turned to scan the throng of people. She'd wandered out of my field of vision, I was sure. That's when I noticed the weight in my arm.
I was holding her.
When my head spun to locate her I found myself face to face with her blue eyes.
"What did you say?" Nikki asked from beside me.
I chuckled. "I said Abby, but I meant Logan. Where's Logan?"
Here's a little secret, though: I didn't mean Logan. Yes, I really did forget for a second that I was holding my own daughter and started to look for her. Yes, for approximately one and a half seconds my brain farted so hard I felt its wind ruffle my hair. Yes, daydreaming all day is probably bad and all those years being absent minded have caught up with me in my old age.
I'm going to be forty in a few months. I thought my body might at least give me those few months before it started its slow crumble.
I was wrong.
Moral of the Story: Exercise your mind. Sharpen your focus. Read books, play memory games, be aware of things, don't get old. Most of that's easy to do.
Or so you would think.
